


A Race Of Angels Bound With One Another

by margaritaville_antifa



Category: Steely Dan (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 23:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaritaville_antifa/pseuds/margaritaville_antifa
Summary: Just another night at home in New York City, babey!





	A Race Of Angels Bound With One Another

On President Street in Brooklyn, Pete walked alone, back to his apartment, after another evening out at the bar. When he opened the door and turned on the light, his old lady was there on the couch, waiting for him.

“Where have you been?”

“I was out with the boys,” Pete said, throwing his coat aside. “I thought you were asleep.”

“You were with some girl, weren’t you?” His wife sneered. “Someone younger… prettier than me, I bet.”

“Oh god, Diane, just stop with this shit already.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Look, you have no room to talk. You haven’t been exactly faithful either, ya know…” Pete sat down on the couch, turning on the T.V. to distract himself.

“Only because you weren’t paying attention to me, anymore!” Diane stood up, trying to choke back tears. “I just want to save our marriage, but you don’t give a shit!”

“Diane, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. I’m tryin' to watch the news.”

Above their unit, Walter leaned out of an open window, smoking a cigarette and eavesdropping on their entire conversation. “Don, they’re fighting again.”

“What is it this time?”

“What do you think? She’s saying that he’s out with a mistress, he’s denying it, same old same old.”

“I mean…” Don sat down next to Walt. “They’re definitely BOTH cheating on each other. We both know how thin these walls are, I’m sure the entire building knows it too.” 

“Yeah…” Walter said. “I feel bad for them.”

“C’mon, don’t feel bad for those schmucks.”

“Well, they’re clearly unhappy with their situation. If you ask me, they should just go down to Haiti for a quick divorce, then they could go find their own paths to happiness…

“Yeah.” Don laughed. “She could go off to Hollywood and hang out with the stars, leech off their fame…”

“And he’d finally be able to play golf every weekend with his buddies, no interruptions from the wife… Man, I hope it happens. They should get some kind of compensation for all the indignities they’ve suffered here…”

“I think it’s funny that you’re hoping that their marriage ends.”

“I mean, c’mon! It’d be the best thing to have ever happened to them in the long run! No use in saving it anyways, they’re clearly not in love anymore.” Walt took another drag from his cigarette. “That’s why you shouldn’t marry the first person you date, y’know? I bet those two were like, high school sweethearts or somethin’ so they got married ‘cause that’s what you were /supposed/ to do but obviously they changed. They aren’t the same people anymore so now they hate each other.”

“Wow, that’s a very fine analysis of a couple of people you barely know anything about.” Don paused for a bit. “So… What about us?”

“What ABOUT us?”

“We met as fairly young college students. Are we doomed to hate each other one day too?”

“Don, meeting your main squeeze in college is a lot different than meeting them in high school… I mean, I don’t know, I can’t look into the future.”

“Mhm.” Don felt his stomach twist. They both sat there for a while, not sure where else to take the conversation next.

“I’m hungry,” Walter said, breaking the silence.

Don got up and walked over to the fridge. It was empty. “Shit. We don’t have food.”

“Let’s just get something delivered. I could go for some Chinese food.”

“We had Chinese yesterday. And the day before that. I’m sick of it.”

“Well, whatever, I’ll just get some General Tso’s and you can just starve.”

“Fine, fine. Get me some chow mein.”

“Sure.” Walter took out the scrap of paper that had the numbers for various food establishments (for “emergencies”) and dialed the one for the local Chinese restaurant.

“Hello this is the Red Dragon,” said the voice on the other end. “What can I get for you?”

“Yeah, can I get an order of General Tso’s and chow mein and uhhhhh… maybe some crab rangoon?”

Don, in the meantime, was sulking on the couch, watching television. He took out some scotch whisky and drank it, straight from the bottle.

“Okay, thank you.” Walt hung up and sat down next to Don on the couch. He could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Are you hogging up the scotch, again?”

“Mhm.” Don looked away, trying not to meet Walt’s gaze.

“Don, don’t be like that. I don’t like it when you give me the silent treatment.”

“God, fine, I just drank a little bit but there’s still enough for you.”

Walter rolled his eyes. “I’m not in the mood for it. I’m not in the mood for T.V., either.” He grabbed the remote and turned it off.

“No! Turn it back on, I’m trying to keep up on politics.”

“Nah, it’s too depressing. I just wanna relax.”

Above them, David Palmer was listening to their bickering and wondering when it would end. He had a very eventful evening of partying and drinking, but it was starting to catch up to him as he sobered up, and the headaches began to take over. And worse of all, he had to listen to his two weirdo bandmates, who were also somehow in a relationship with each other, argue over some dumb shit.

A knock came at the door at the Becker-Fagen residence. It was the delivery boy. “Thanks, here’s the money and the tip,” Walt said. “Hey Donald! Food’s here!”

“Thank god. I’m starving.”

“And just a few minutes ago, you were talking about how you were so tired of Chinese food…”

“Look, I’m hungry, okay? If push comes to shove, I’ll eat anything edible.”

David sighed in relief. They were finally eating, which made them shut up for a while. Now he could get to sleep…

After about fifteen minutes of trying to sleep, their voices started up again.

“So Don, do you wanna go to the bedroom?”

“For what?”

“You know what! Don’t play dumb.” 

“Walt, I’m slightly drunk right now. I need you to spell it out for me.”

“Okay… I want us to make the beast with two backs.”

Don tilted his head over like a confused dog.

“Y’know… making love… doin’ it… the ol’ in-and-out…”

Don still looked confused.

Walt sighed. “Do you wanna have sex?”

“OH! Oh yeah, sure.”

David dragged his fingers down his face. Of course they were gonna fuck, of course. And he was going to hear every moment, every moan that came out of Don and Walt, the last two people he wanted to imagine doing it.

He threw a pillow over his face, trying to muffle out the sound as much as possible. Soon it would be over. Soon…

 

David Palmer went inside the studio, but he wasn’t sure why he was bothering to show up. Don and Walt hired him to be the lead singer, the “voice” for Steely Dan. But then Donald just went ahead and sang most of the tracks for the first album anyways. A lead singer who only sang on two songs, what a joke!

But today, he was pleasantly surprised. “Hey David, we have a song for you to sing,” Walt said. 

“Oh, really? You’re not just gonna record one take and then change your mind and give it to Don instead?”

“Nope, it’s all yours.” Walter handed a page of lyrics to David. “It’s still a work in progress.”

“Brooklyn owes the charmer under me, huh?”

Walter nodded. “Yeah, we wrote it for the couple that lived below our apartment, back in Brooklyn.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that…”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing…” David looked over the lyrics again and looked straight into the camera, cue canned studio laughter, fade to black. The end.


End file.
